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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23693347">Wind Burnt Whispers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/forest_roses/pseuds/forest_roses'>forest_roses</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>give me your gravity, there is none here [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wolf 359 (Radio)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Asexual Character, Asexual Kepler, Demisexual Jacobi, M/M, Trans Daniel Jacobi, You can fight me on that, i sincerely hope it’s not out of character, i've been listening to aurora non-stop for the last few days and it shows, it's so much fun to write these two but at the same time it is extremely painful, kepler thinks only in shakespeare quotes and metaphors, neither of those have anything to do with the fic but i’m putting it in anyway, this is very soft, vague mentions of blood/violence, very very brief and vague memory of homophobia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:48:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,320</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23693347</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/forest_roses/pseuds/forest_roses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He loves you as easily as he breathes, which is to say he struggles heavily with both and yet cannot go on without either.<br/>He is charcoal in coal-dust hands and wind burnt whispers in hotel room beds and you, Warren Kepler, will die for his honey-soft rasp.<br/>Close your eyes and breathe it in. This is how you will die. Close your eyes and tell yourself you'll regret it, and open your eyes to see his own and know you are lying with every kiss.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daniel Jacobi/Warren Kepler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>give me your gravity, there is none here [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706251</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Wind Burnt Whispers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first fanfiction for this fandom but it will not be my last. It is impossible to resist writing these two. Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You regard the man before you with something akin to awe, forsaken reverence flickering fast-gone in your eyes. Perhaps you have gone wrong, somewhere along the way, but it's been a long long time since you fell for him and you've long since given up on trying to find out when. He is standing over the body of the man he just killed (for you) and you just might die for the puppy-dog gaze he is casting your way, begging your approval even as the blood drips from frozen fingers, slip-slipping in a mockery of raindrops onto his dark ripped jeans.</p><p>You've told him a million times to get rid of them. They are torn and fabric hangs off in strips at the bottom; they're going to be the end of him someday, he will trip over the ragged ends running away from some other danger, and you will lose him.</p><p>He never listens to you.</p><p>He is charcoal in coal-dust hands and wind burnt whispers in hotel room beds and you, Warren Kepler, will die for his honey-soft rasp. You will die for how his hands feel on your back while he cleans and bandages your wounds, you will die for the way he trusts you to trust him in those moments.</p><p>You could snap his neck in a moment, and he knows it and he loves you for it. He smelled danger from the moment you quoted Shakespeare at him in that broken down bar in a city that slept indifferent to him, and he followed the scent right back to you.</p><p>"To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand."</p><p>He is to you what sugar is to an animal, drawing you close to drink deep of sweet addiction. He is to you a vice unneeded, he is a distraction and by all rights you should despise him for it and yet you cannot bring the thought halfway out of the darkness of your mind. He is to you inessential, and essentially disposable, and you will die before you draw a breath of which he does not inhale as well.</p><p>You are to him as oxygen is to anyone with lungs that still need it, you are necessary for him to breathe and you are burning him slowly from the inside out all the time he draws in breath. All you know how to live is to corrupt and murder all that loves, and he feels everything at once and nothing at all and every inch of it much too deeply. His kisses taste of gasoline and the scent of him, like woodsmoke and fireworks on a dark night and dang it, your whiskey, it surges to meet your tongue when he bites your lip.</p><p>Close your eyes and breathe it in, Warren Kepler. This is how you will die. Close your eyes and tell yourself you'll regret it, and open your eyes to see his own and know you are lying with every kiss. It is befitting to such a man as yourself that even in love, you are sadism incarnate, though whether you are hurting him or yourself the jury is gone and never going to decide upon. You are so, so far gone on him and you know how happily you'd take his cuts just as soon as his kisses.</p><p>When he falls asleep in your arms in a hotel room bed, look down upon him with your hunter's eyes. He is wearing your shirt and his hair is mussed from where he runs his hands through it after a shower, and he is snoring too loudly and he is more beautiful than anything else you've ever known.</p><p>Your mother raised a good Christian boy and though all ties with your past are dead and gone and your life now is unconventional, to say the slightest, you know just from looking at him that there is a God above who designed him with his crooked nose and calloused hands and half-moon scars on his chest, and placed him right here on this Earth, right here in this hotel room with you, and you praise Him for it. You may not have attended church since those boys broke your nose for watching one of them a little too closely sitting with his girl, but you keep a Bible in the glove compartment of your car alongside matches for the man laying in your arms and a handgun for those unfortunate souls who dare to cross the will of yourself and your superiors.</p><p>When he shifts in your arms in the dead of night and his feet pad softly across the floor until all you can see is the sliver of light under the bathroom door in the pitch black room, pretend to be asleep. Pretend to be asleep when he calls "Warren?" soft and sweet from the doorway, pretend you cannot see the tear tracks on his cheeks and hear his shivering breaths from yet another nightmare daring to disturb his sleep. You do not deserve the opportunity to comfort him, you are far too much like a flame to his gasoline-slicked skin and you are afraid to break him so easily.</p><p>And yet you pull him close when the mattress dips next to you, you run a hand through his hair and let him rest his tear-streaked face on your chest, and when he looks up at you in the darkness your eyes are open and watching the textured ceiling above the both of you, unsure and uncertain and pretending that you can still feel any remnants of the man you used to be within your too-full ribcage.</p><p>Draw in a breath as you draw him close and revel in the softness of his skin against your neck and play back the pain from the bullet scar he is so gently stroking on your shoulder, try to sharpen this image through the haze of sleep and safety you feel when he mouths words into the hollow of your throat, when he whispers a thank you in the dead of night and you force your lungs to take in more air because swear on your life he takes it all away.</p><p>He loves you as easily as he breathes, which is to say he struggles heavily with both and yet cannot go on without either. He runs warm fingers down your arms when you wake with a half-choked bloodied word filling the cavern of your mouth, and in the morning he will say nothing about it but he will bring you a cup of the worst hotel coffee you've ever tasted when the sun rises (lid off, because he knows you hate it and he loves to tease) and the two of you will sit in pleasant silence until it is time to go. His fingers tap quiet and noncommittal against the back of his phone as he plays yet another of the thousands useless games he never seems to keep, and you are still watching him, captivated by the ease with which he can exist.</p><p>If you are honest, and Warren Kepler, you never are, you can't look away from this ethereal creature, this fire-soaked charcoal-lunged boy that you have allowed to put a beating heart back in your chest, this man that has filled the emptiness of your being with something akin to feeling that terrifies and delights you in the depth of emotions it brings.</p><p>This is Daniel Jacobi, dead and alive and neither in the same moment, and you are Warren Kepler, and you have never ever seen anything quite so perfectly deadly, and you will heed his siren's call and die for the way his lips form your name.</p><p>Swear on your love for him, Warren Kepler, you will burn for him and you will love him more with every aching flame.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wrote this at one in the morning listening to Aurora's A Different Kind of Human and Infections of A Different Kind, Step I. If you want anything to listen to during this quarantine, I wholeheartedly recommend her.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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